by David Fulmer
Still, he couldn’t imagine Little Jesse in an afterlife being anything other than the same rounder he had been on the streets of Atlanta. Something about him in a gown of white sateen with little wings attached and a halo over his nappy head didn’t fit. Joe closed his eyes for a moment and smiled at the image.
As he mused about Jesse, he was aware of Willie’s sweet tenor with the textured guitar beneath it and the lyric retelling of his final moments.
What broke Jesse’s heart,
Why he was blue and all alone
Sweet Lorena had packed up and gone . . .
Something caught, like a windblown rag on a bare branch. Joe recalled sitting at Jesse’s bedside and seeing the look on his face as he mourned a lost love, mourned his own fading life, mourned the life he was leaving behind. He had looked Joe right in the eye. You know how a woman can break your heart, Joe. Joe supposed he did know, though maybe not the way Jesse had meant it. One woman had wounded him almost thirty years ago, and it was true that he had never really gotten over it.
Jesse would claim that any female was capable of inflicting such heartache. Was that what he meant with that piercing stare? Joe would never know; it was another question unanswered.
Willie finished his song. It was followed by a murmur of low voices as the crowd broke apart. Some of them would make their way back to Jesse’s rooms for one more round of drinking and carousing. Soon, tomorrow probably, the landlord would come around to sell off or give away whatever was left. Other than that, Little Jesse Williams wouldn’t even leave a shadow.
They ran into Martha as they made their way out of the cemetery. She looked particularly bereaved, her back bent under the weight of her grief, and Joe felt sorry for her. Of all the women, she was the one who seemed to have loved Jesse truly, and so would most mourn his passing. She would never betray him, not like Lorena in the song, or any other—
“Mr. Joe,” she greeted him as they came up alongside her. “Willie.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Willie said.
“I’m sorry, too,” Martha said faintly. “Don’t know what I’m gon’ do now.”
They walked on in silence and didn’t stop or speak until they got to the street and had to wait for the now-empty hearse wagon to pass by.
Martha sighed and said, “I jes’ keep thinking that if he’d have gone to jail like he was s’posed to, ain’t none of this would have happened. He’d be locked up, but at least he’d be alive.”
Joe didn’t know what she was talking about. “Jail for what?”
“For running that game.”
“When was this?”
“About . . . a month ago? Somethin’ like that.”
“But he’s been running games for years. Everybody does it.”
“All I know is they came and busted it up,” she said. “And then they took him in. I went to see him in his cell. He thought he was a goner. Said they told him they was gonna th’ow away the damn key. But then later on that same day, they drop the charges and let him go free. They’d a kept him, he’d be alive right now.”
“You remember who arrested him?”
“No, I don’t know nothing else about it,” Martha said.
Joe was curious. It was the first time he’d heard this, and it didn’t make sense. Why break up a game in the first place? There were dozens of them running every night, all over the city. At the worst, some cops looking for cash so they could buy lunch or a bottle of beer might come by, get their money, and go. All the big games paid regular graft to the beat patrolmen.
The wagon passed, its wheels creaking. Instead of stepping into the street, Martha stood looking back toward the grave site.
“Don’t none of it matter no more, does it?” she said. “He’s gone.”
She didn’t seem inclined for company, so Joe and Willie left her standing there as they started the trek back into the city.
They came to let Pearl out at 11:40. The matrons, the same two who had brought her in, walked her to the desk to collect a paper sack of the clothes she had been wearing when she came in, and made her change right there in front of them, watching with their porcine eyes. She noticed that her jewelry, two rings and a silver bracelet, had disappeared, and knew better than to say anything about it.
All the way to the door, she was sure she would hear a shout and feel rough hands that would drag her back inside to spend now and forever in that place. Then she was standing on Hunter Street, and her feet were carrying her back downtown, and she got lost in the morning crowd, her shoulders hunched and head bent to the sidewalk.
She had been unable to eat what little of the awful food they gave her, especially after the Captain’s visit, and her stomach was wrenching. Still, she was desperate to find Joe. After his stunt at the Tower early that morning, she was afraid he would try something else just as reckless and drag them all into deeper trouble.
So she headed for the Hampton. As she made her way along, a momentary reverie overtook her, and she imagined him next to her, his head on the pillow, his face soft and pale with sleep. It was dark and quiet, with only the sound of raindrops tapping the windowpanes, and it seemed that time had stopped.
Someone passing by jostled her and she snapped out of it. She was coming up Peachtree Street and crossing Poplar when she was startled to see a familiar gray coat as the man from her daydream appeared, cutting at an angle through the busy traffic to her side of the street. She felt a rush of relief and thought to call out, then caught herself. What if someone was watching? Better to follow him and wait for the right moment.
A half block on, he turned into James Street, a short and narrow thoroughfare. He was halfway to the next corner and she was just about to call his name when she saw a white woman with wide hips and jutting bosom step out the back door of Rich’s Department Store. The woman barely glanced at Joe, but then moved casually in his direction. Pearl read instantly from their postures that they were meeting, though neither one spoke a word or made a gesture of greeting.
She watched Joe stroll past the woman, who waited until he had gone on another twenty paces before following behind. She felt her gut churn. Joe Rose, her hero, was meeting a woman, a fancy white woman, while she was supposed to be locked up in the Tower.
She seethed, imagining how the tryst would unfold. He would lead the woman in a loop around the block and through the side streets to the back door of the Hampton. She would find her way upstairs and into the same bed in which Pearl had laid not thirty-six hours before. The thought of it made her want to kill the both of them.
The moment passed and she got hold of herself. She couldn’t afford to cause a scene. And as she calmed down, she noticed that there was something not quite right about this little interlude, and in a sudden moment it came to her who the woman was and why she was meeting Joe in that place. She went through it in quick jumps, frightened about what it meant and yet spellbound by the intricate drama—a spider’s web. She knew what he was doing, and knew she would have to let it happen. There was no other choice. Sadly, he was doing it for her.
All the same, she couldn’t stifle the sick pain in her chest. No matter what his intentions, there was no doubt in her mind what would happen once he got the woman to his room, and it was her fault that it was unfolding this way. With a last glance at their retreating figures, she turned around and started for home.
Joe turned the corner onto North Forsyth Street and saw May Ida appear from the back entrance of Rich’s Department Store, so close to the stroke of twelve he could have set his watch by it. A few seconds later, the noon bell at North Avenue Baptist tolled.
She was wearing a cloche hat that fit tight over her curls, with a brim down low in front. The wide collar of her twill overcoat was turned up, so only someone peering close would recognize her. At the same time, Joe noticed at a glance that her chubby cheeks were pink and her blue eyes were all aglitter with excitement.
For a brief second, his neck prickled with a sense that someone was watching him, and he
stole a glimpse over his shoulder, ready to scrap the plan and scurry away. He saw no one suspicious; still, he wasn’t about to take any chances and ambled by May Ida as if they were strangers.
He felt rather than saw her fall into step a dozen paces behind him. Though she was making all the right moves, he didn’t relax until they wound their way around the block, cut across to Ivy Street, and slipped into the alley and through the back door of the Hampton. She followed him up the staircase, keeping one set between them.
Joe entertained a brief flush of shame as he made his way along the hall, thinking the only good thing about Pearl being locked up was that she couldn’t catch him at this subterfuge. When he got to his room, he left the door open the barest crack, and a half minute later, May Ida slipped inside and closed it behind her.
She turned down the collar of her coat and gave him a smile that was full of affection. She was happy to see him again. Though they’d only met the one time, her memories of him were vivid and very fond. He was different from the others. Being there thrilled her all the more because the rendezvous was transpiring almost under her husband’s nose, and because she was playing such a dangerous game.
For his part, Joe didn’t find it so exciting. He was gambling that he wasn’t being watched. Even so, he had no choice but to go through with it, and got down to business, moving up behind to help her off with her wrap. As he folded it across his arm, she tilted her head to one side, and he dutifully kissed her cheek. She purred with pleasure, then turned around and gave him a look of reproof.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” she said. “How long has it been since we last visited?”
“I don’t remember,” Joe began to stutter. “It must be . . . um . . .”
“It’s been at least six months!” May Ida scolded him.
Joe looked appropriately abashed as he hid his astonishment. It had been closer to two years. He wondered if she knew who he was, and began to worry that this was a mistake.
“I’ve been out of town,” he said gamely. “Traveling on business.”
“Is that right?” she said. “Well, I’m glad you decided to reply to my message.”
Joe blinked at the sudden change in her tone from warm to cool. It was as if she’d thrown a switch.
At the same time, she was taking mincing steps in the general direction of the bed. As she sidled along, she reverted back to her giddy self, chattering about this and that: the weather, Christmas coming, and how the help she was getting was not—
“You said there was something you wanted to talk about,” Joe broke in. He didn’t have time to listen to chatter.
She stopped in the middle of her sentence and treated him to a keen look. “Yes, I did, didn’t I?”
Though she now stood at the foot of the bed, there was nothing in her face or posture that told Joe she was eager to make use of it. Quite the contrary; something feral was lighting up her face and eyes, giving her the look of an animal seeking prey. She was nothing like the daffy woman he remembered from the liaison at the Dixie so many months ago. But who could tell how living with the Captain had affected her?
He watched her for another few seconds and decided it would be wise to take her seriously. “Please, have a seat,” he told her.
She settled on the bed, gazed at the mattress for a bemused moment, then turned back to him, her hands folded primly in her lap. “What happened to your face?” she asked him.
“I got a beating.” He paused, then said, “It was your husband’s idea.”
“My—” Her mouth set in a hard line and he thought she was going to spit. She said, “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“He had me picked up and thrown in jail yesterday.”
Her brow stitched. “Why?”
“He thinks I’m holding out on a crime.”
“The theft of jewelry?”
He studied her more closely. “That’s right. You know about it?”
“I read the papers,” she said vaguely. “And I hear things. Did you steal those goods?”
“I didn’t. But the Captain thinks I know who did.”
“Well?” Her eyes danced as if she was playing with him. “Do you?”
“No,” he said. “Do you?”
She smiled like a lazy cat and curled her back, giving her bosom a prouder forward thrust. “I know what I know,” she said deliberately.
Joe drew his eyes off her bustline and raised his eyebrows with appropriate curiosity. Now he could imagine her flicking a forked tongue.
Though there was no one else in the room, she whispered. “He’s been talking and I’ve been listening,” she said. “He doesn’t think I understand, but I do. But just to be sure, I wrote some things down. It’s quite a story, all right.” She batted her eyes, feigning a helpless look. “I want to share it with someone, but I don’t know who I can trust.”
Joe couldn’t miss her meaning; his sharper instincts came into play. He went into action like the sneak thief he was: quietly, slyly, at odd angles, and with the same sleek stalk that served him so well when he invaded a house.
He began the gambit with a sincere look, murmuring words she wanted to hear. Can’t that wait? It’s been a while since I’ve seen you. We can talk later . . .
Meanwhile, he edged close, and with a gentle, unhurried motion, removed her hat, letting his fingertips brush her ears and neck. She swooned a bit under this treatment, her flesh flushing a shade darker. As soon as he dropped the hat on the bed, she took his hands in hers, kissed them both, then placed them to her breast, as if giving him an offering. She closed her eyes and sighed with pleasure, her face so ardent that he had to stifle a laugh.
“Oh, I’ve missed you so!” she breathed as he began undoing the top buttons on her dress, echoing the words from a movie card. This was the May Ida Joe knew. He pushed the fabric off her round shoulders to find she was wearing a white, lace-trimmed chemise that was about one size too small for her girth. If he fell into that cleavage he might never get back out, but he was willing to take that risk in the service of saving Pearl, Sweet, and himself from the vile clutches of her husband. He sighed, thinking he truly was a rat.
He now cupped her elbows and brought her to her feet. As she stood up, her dress dropped the rest of the way to the floor.
“It is rather stuffy in here,” she said with a little gasping laugh.
Joe laid light hands on her upper arms to urge her back down on the bed. As she tumbled down, she said, “My, my. Whatever is on your mind?”
He went at her hard, giving her all the pleasure he could in the limited amount of time. It helped that May Ida responded with an instant ferocity. She huffed and moaned and cried out like a crazy woman. She wasn’t Pearl, who would respond with a fierce energy that would all but break his back. This one dug her nails into the mattress and held on as if his assault might send her off the bed and through the wall. He knew he could work her until she was ready to turn over everything, including the keys to her house. There wasn’t time for that. So he pounded her flesh pink then red and wet, until she finally broke down into a drunken heap. Her expression was clownish with sated desire.
A few moments passed, and quite abruptly her face dissolved into a mask of sorrow and she began to weep. Joe, at first startled by this outburst, felt a pang in his own chest, as her hurt and loneliness came seeping out. What a life she had led, a good person who was first scorned for her appetites, then had jumped from one man to the next until she was yoked to a crude and heartless man like the Captain. Who had now earned her revenge in return. He didn’t know what to say, so he just held her tighter.
That moment passed soon enough, and she drew away just a bit, a sign that told him she didn’t need his sympathy. When he looked at her again, the sorrow was gone and the carnivorous gleam was back in her eyes.
Now it was her turn to deliver, and she knew it. She reached over the side of the bed for a piece of paper that had fallen among her clothes. With a smile that hinged on wicked, she stretched l
anguorously one more time, then settled herself.
“Well, to begin with,” she said, waving the page like a fan, “the man can’t handle his liquor.”
It took her only a few minutes to go through it, and when she finished, he lay there in such a befuddled state that she had to poke him to get his attention.
“I didn’t think anything could surprise a man like you,” she said.
She had surprised him, and then some. As she had explained it, he passed through puzzlement, disbelief, and anger to arrive at a grudging amazement over the design she described. The pieces fell into place, the beginnings of a picture.
He lay there for some moments, then came out of his brooding to go at May Ida one more time, as if to brand their connivance into her very flesh. It was over in a hurry, and when he was done, she looked stone-dazed with pleasure. Joe felt another twinge of shame that came and went.
Once they both caught their breath, he asked her to run it down once more, posing a question here and there, until he was satisfied that he had everything. She let him look over the paper for himself. It was some slick business, worthy of a moll.
Their time was up. Gently, he explained that he had to move on the information right away. She nodded, though he could see regret in her eyes, as if realizing that they’d never meet like this again.
He left her to get dressed and hurried down to the street to whistle up a taxi, sending the driver around to the rear entrance.
May Ida appeared at the door and passed by him without a word, keeping her head low as she got into the car. She watched him with a cool and steady gaze as the taxi pulled away.
As Joe stood there in the cold doorway, a sudden sense of loss and loneliness crept up to worm its way into his brain. It was the same cloud that came over him whenever he considered what a fraud he was, and how the roles he played—the detective, the sneak thief, the lover of women like May Ida Jackson—were empty charades that had nothing to do with a real life.